Chromatic Dream
by Nova-Fortuna
Summary: Maybe it was that small part of her that never grew up – the part that still wanted to believe in her father – that made her stay. Maybe she was a bit too naïve and the world a bit crueler. She thought she could escape the idea of marriage. Then a proposal came from someone she cannot simply refuse. "Because everything can be bought for the right price." OC-centric. Pre-canon.
1. Prologue: A History of Greed

**Prologue**

 **A History of Greed**

Somebody once said that in this life, there was bound to be changes. One day, there would be people you wouldn't see any longer, places you couldn't visit anymore, things you couldn't do. And the list went on. You simply could not live a constant life forever. The same goes for Arazi Kafka.

She had a routine that she abides to day by day. Each morning, she'd go down to the market and wander about for at least half an hour, watching vendors set up their stalls. And when the clock chimes eight, indicating the start of the morning rush, she'd be by her father's stall, helping him trade until the sun set, dealing with customers of different origins.

But today was a little bit different. When she woke up, her father was already seated in the kitchen, on his place by the table, drinking his morning tea. Arazi Akeem glanced at her with his dark eyes – the same ones Kafka had. He stopped counting the money in his hands. When they exchanged morning pleasantries, even she knew there was something bothering him. He hadn't returned to counting his money again.

"What's wrong, Da?" she asked, taking her place across from him. Their kitchen was quite spacious and complete with kitchen appliances despite nobody ever actually using it. Akeem couldn't cook and Kafka had forgone the idea of cooking ever since she flooded the whole house with black smoke.

Akeem stared at her. And Kafka recognized the look in his eyes: worry. There was a moment of silence between them. After some moment of waiting, Akeem finally sighed and pushed the money inside his pockets. He took a sip of his tea.

"You don't have to come to the market today." He said in his usual raspy voice.

"Why?"

"It's not safe. Pirates have been sighted near the harbor last night."

Kafka snorted, her hand moved to grab a piece of pita bread.

"Da, I have been living here since forever and helping you with your business ever since I was twelve. I have dealt with pirates before; I know all the dangers in this job."

"It's different this time. They are no ordinary pirates. Stay here. I'm serious, Kafka." Her father said, voice stern. He put down his cup and stood up, making his way out of the kitchen. He hovered on the door, glancing back at her. And when he spoke again, his voice was considerably softer. "I'll bring you back something later."

Not feeling up for a debate so early in the morning, she just sighed and nibbled her bread. She could hear the sound of her father leaving the house. Her father might have asked her to stay in the house, but that didn't mean she had to do it. She loved her father. Really. And she believed that he also loved her in his own way. But if she had to stay cooped up inside her house for even a day, she knew she'd go mad. 'When the clock chimes eight,' she thought.

The bell couldn't have rung sooner. Kafka finished washing the teapot and cups and plates but the bell still hadn't rang. Her teeth gnawed her underlip. The moment the first sound reverberated across the city, she snatched her satchel and went out. Her steps were light as she practically dashed to the market.

The market was a busy place especially during Sunday morning. It was the only occasion when merchants originating from outside the city could do open trade within their own shops and gather their own profits. The sight was as familiar as always, had it not been for the increased amount of marine officers patrolling the area.

Still, Kafka felt the same old comfort engulfing her from the sight. She had always found crowded places secure. Faces she didn't know would pop out here and there, interesting items she could never procure on daily basis, but most importantly, she felt safe among these strangers. She didn't know them and they didn't know her. It was as simple as that.

Among this sea of strangers, she could recognize the person waving her over. Her curly hair was let loose as always. Each curls bounced along with each jump she did on her place. She was brimming with energy. It made Kafka wonder where those energy came from.

"Morning, Kafka." Samira grinned at her. Samira was the exact opposite of Kafka. She was cheerful and optimistic, always the hopeless romantic. And despite her boundless energy, she didn't seem to mind settling down early in her life. "Did you hear the news? Some notorious pirates docked on our harbor."

"I've heard about it," Kafka said as they made their way through the bustling market. "Why do you ask?"

"Because this is so exciting!" her friend said, skipping two steps ahead in front of her. "Strong pirates are coming to our island. Imagine, being held in their strong arms while they whisked us away. Isn't it romantic?" she squealed.

Kafka chuckled. "They are no prince charming though."

Samira turned and stuck her tongue out. "You, my dear friend, are no fun." Then she bursted into laughter. The kind that was contagious to people nearby that made Kafka join. Once they calmed down, she asked, "Why aren't you with your father?"

"He doesn't want me to go out today."

Samira simply nodded and with a serious look on face said, "But you just went out anyway."

"Yeah." Kafka chuckled. "You know I don't like staying cooped up inside."

They made their way around the market. Now Kafka understood why her father had been so worried. It wasn't just the pirates; the World Nobles had also come. Pinpointing them wasn't hard with those ridiculous costumes they had done in order to protect themselves from breathing in the common people's air. Now that she knew, it made her wonder why some prominent people decided to come to their city. Jahad morning market was wonderful. But compared to their neighboring island, the Sabaody Archipelago, with their auction house, it was nothing. Not to mention, the World Nobles didn't come often, much preferring to buy slaves in Sabaody. Most people who come to the city were merchants or pirates who hoped to get supplies.

Upon seeing the Nobles, Kafka and Samira unconsciously scooted closer to each other, hoping to go by unnoticed. It was working well up until they got closer to Akeem's shop. There was a huge crowd assimilated in front of it. Once they were on hearing range, Kafka could hear the yelling. She recoiled when she saw the World Noble, followed behind by another man, scrawny and cadaverous – his slave, she thought bitterly. Behind him stood two guards.

Akeem saw her first. His face didn't change, but Kafka could tell from the slightest twitch on the corner of his mouth that he was pleased to see her there.

"Kafka." He said, beckoning her over.

She stepped closer, standing by his side all while casting wary look to the Noble.

"This is Saint Maximilian," her father put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Saint Maximilian, please let me introduce you to my daughter, Kafka Arazi."

"A pleasure." the man said, eyes scanning her facial feature and moving up and down to check her whole body.

"Like..." she paused, unsure, "...wise."

"He has heard about your talent and has stated his desire to marry you." Akeem was beaming at her, obviously proud.

"No." The answer was instantaneous. She had no desire to marry anyone. And even if she wanted to, it certainly wouldn't be to someone like him - an arrogant, selfish, incorrigible bastard like him.

"What?!" The noble exclaimed. His face was contorting with fury. "How dare you commoner-! And just when I was being nice and courteous!"

Her father held up his hands in an attempt to appease him and he glanced at her. But when he talked, his tone was laced with worry. "Now, Saint Maximilian. Please, calm down and let me talk to my daughter first. She must have misunderstood the situation."

Maximilian growled. "Fine. You have five minutes or the deal is off."

"I thank you," Akeem bowed and grabbed Kafka's hand, pulling her inside the stall. He let her go once they were inside.

"What's going on, Da?" Kafka asked. "I don't want get married. Much less to a stranger like him."

"Kafka please, you must understand." Her father said. "I know you don't want to marry in the near future, but this is once in a life chance. If you become the wife of a world noble, our future will be secured."

"Oh, so it's the money?" Kafka scoffed. Now everything made sense. Of course it was the money. That was all that matters to her father. Silence settled among them. And when she spoke again, she could barely contain the hurt in her voice. "You're selling me to him, aren't you? You will do that? To your own daughter?"

Her father sighed and looked away. "This is the best for you."

"The best for me? Then what about what I think?" Kafka wanted to laugh. She wanted to scream. However she merely gritted her teeth. "You're always thinking about yourself. This is why Ma left."

She knew she hit the right button because Akeem's face twisted into anger. "Your mother?" he scoffed. "Your mother left twelve years ago. And what had she done to us before leaving? Nothing. Except bringing trouble in our doorstep."

Kafka opened her mouth, about to retort, but the door was wrenched open before she could utter a word.

"Time's up!" the noble declared and gestured to the two soldiers behind him. "Take her away!"

With an exclamation of "Yes, Sir!" they immediately moved to restrain her. They grabbed her hand and put them behind her back.

"Let go!" she screamed, struggling to get away from her captors. She could see her father looking at them with fear in his eyes. She could see Samira watching wide-eyed from within the crowd, her mouth moving in silent prayer.

"Your father said it himself. This is a trade and the trade is sacred. Or are you trying to soil it?" He looked around at the audience that had gathered and asked them. "Or is there anyone among you who will say differently?"

She threw a glare at him. _Selfish arrogant narcissistic son of a bitch! How dare he use the teaching of our God against us?_

A murmur of unease spread among the crowd, but none of them stepped forward. The trade had been made. Beside, which sane person would cross a world noble?

This seemed to please him. He pulled bundles of cash out and threw it to Akeem. "Here. Everything could be bought for the right price in this city, right?" He laughed again. "I suppose your daughter is no different."

Kafka looked at her father, hoping him to do something, to stop them. Anything really. But he only stood there, staring at the money lying on the ground. And the worst part was she knew he wouldn't do anything. And maybe it was that small naïve part of her that never grew up – the part that still wanted to believe in princesses and their happily-ever-afters - that didn't stop her from begging him. She had escaped marriage this whole time. She didn't want to marry now, not when she was only twenty. She loved her freedom. Too much perhaps. Just as much as her father loved his money. "Da, please. This freedom is the last thing I have - the _only_ thing. If they take it, I don't know what will be left of me. Please, Da. Please. Don't let them take me."

But he didn't look up. And she realized, a little too late, that he wouldn't.

* * *

 **One Piece (c) Eiichiro Oda**

 **OCs (c) Me**

 **~Reviews are greatly appreciated~**


	2. Chapter I: As Pale as Death

**Thanks a lot for the reviews, favourites, and follows, guys~ Seriously, you guys are so nice...**

* * *

 **Chapter I**

 **As Pale as Death**

The hotel room was large and luxurious with a king-sized bed in the center of the room; a set of windows that face directly to the sea gave Kafka a full view of the harbor. The only things obstructing the sight were the bars Maximilian had somehow put there. And there were guards everywhere even though they never came into her room. There might not be any sign of it, but she also knew they were watching her.

During this time, Kafka had refused to eat anything they gave her due to sheer desire to scorn the noble even further. Or maybe it was an effect due to being unable to move around as she pleases. She even refused to touch the water they gave her.

On the third day, she was sitting, curled up in a corner with both knees tucked to her chest. She glanced up when someone entered her room. Judging by the tray and the rousing smell, the stranger must be a servant, here to deliver her dinner, even though she wasn't the usual servant. Her eyes followed as the new servant bowed politely and moved to place the tray on top of the desk in the right side of the room, next to the tray with her uneaten lunch. The girl seemed to pause for a little bit but Kafka was unsure with everything as of late. She could barely focus due to the fatigue that came with the hunger.

The servant turned to her and walked toward her, stopping merely a step away from where she sat and crouching down so they could see each other eye to eye. From their positions now, Kafka could see her clearly. Her hair was so blonde it's almost white, her green eyes were shuttered, and her skin was far too pale. Her appearance screamed foreigner by itself. She estimated that the girl wasn't that much older than her.

"You should eat," she said in what was supposed to be a monotone, but Kafka could detect a hint of irritation on it. "Your mother left you so that you don't die a stupid death."

Kafka gazed at her. "You know my mother?"

The girl ran a hand through her hair. "I have met her before," she said briskly. "Couldn't say that the two of you are alike."

"Is she here?" Kafka asked, cautious. Just because this foreigner knew her mother didn't mean that she was necessarily her friend. She didn't even remember much about her mother beside the fact that she used to bake sweets and knit socks and read her bedtime stories. And that she left her. If her mother was here to save her, wonderful. If not, well, it wouldn't change anything either.

"No," the girl sighed after Kafka's 'oh' and continued, "I don't know, okay? She disappeared a couple of days ago."

"And nobody searched for her?"

"This wasn't the first time. She'll show up when she wants to." She said with a shrug. Pausing, she pulled out an envelope and offered it. "She left a message for you." She stood up and walked to the table, picking up the untouched food from that afternoon before making her way out of the room. She halted and turned to face her again. "If you want to live, you must eat. You still have time. Replenish yourself. And then, escape this place. You can only trust yourself."

Once she was alone again, Kafka opened the letter. A part of her wanted to laugh. There, written in cursive handwriting, was a sentence. " _The world awaits._ "

A couple of hours later, Kafka dragged her body up and toward the table. And for the first time in three days, she ate and drank what was given to her.

The next morning, she felt more refreshed and ate her breakfast. It was then that she found out the reason for the letup of her transport to Mariejois: a big storm was raging on, incapacitating their journey. She supposed not even the most prominent person in the world could defy Mother Nature.

Ever since their meeting, the servant never came back. And during the rest of her stay, Kafka spent most of her time concocting plans to escape. Maybe she could get on one of the ship in the harbor and stowed away. No one would notice. She could sneak in and by the time they realized she was no longer in the city, she would have been far in the middle of the sea. That was it. She could be free, bidding her time in hiding with hope that the accursed world noble would just forget about her and her father.

There was something else that caught her attention: knife kept arriving with her food even when she didn't need it to eat her food. At first she sent it back without much thought. But it kept coming. Until one day it didn't. However, there was a piece of paper tucked in her napkin that came along with her soup and warm tea.

" _The storm has died down. They will send you away first thing tomorrow morning. Tonight is your last chance. I left a present in your soup. Take it and wait for me. I'll distract the guards; you run._

 _P.S.: Get rid of this paper."_

Kafka had a gist of who sent it to her; it was most probably the corpselike girl from before. There was a small chance that she was wrong, but she was willing to wager.

She gulped down the soup and found a butterfly knife on the bottom of it. Judging from the handle, it must be quite old – Kafka had to will herself not to think about what sort of problem drinking the soup could bring to her health – but after she flipped it, the blade glistened in the light. Someone must have taken a good care of it. She closed it again and slipped it in her pocket. Now, she had to get rid of the paper. Her eyes immediately went straight for the teacup. Crumpling the paper, she drowned it in her tea and, with a grimace, drank it.

'Don't puke,' she told herself. Still feeling slightly nauseous, she moved to the wardrobe and changed out of her silk nightwear - another one of her "fiancé's" unwanted gifts – to something more comfortable. Her old clothes were gone, but fortunately, there was still something that didn't involve long dresses or skirts. She shuddered thinking about having to escape in them. It would have been disastrous.

And then she moved to the door and pressed her ears on it, listening to the sound outside. It was quiet. All of a sudden, she felt rather foolish. What if this is just a prank? Or worse, a trap from Maximilian? That would have been humiliating. She chewed on her lower lip. But her worry was unnecessary, because soon, there was yelling outside and the sound of bodies hitting the ground.

She backed away when she felt the handle turn. Her door was opened and two guards entered the room and closing the door behind them.

"Milady! Are you unhurt?" one of them asked her whilst the other pulled out a den den mushi and began dialing the marine base.

Kafka nodded. They were gasping for breath and sweats were rolling down their face. Somehow the sight made Kafka pitied them.

The door crackled and soon enough, it flew out of its handle. Kafka's eyes widened at the sight of the white-haired girl as she shouldered her hammer, one hand on her hip, face as cold as before. Unlike before, this time she wore no servant outfits. Instead, there were trousers, black combat boots, and a hoodie; her clothes were definitely made to fight. Strapped on her back was another weapon – a sword possibly. The guards turned around to face the newcomer; their guns drawn and aimed. They stood in front of her, as though trying to hide her from view.

The girl's green eyes clashed with her own dark brown and the girl scowled. "Well? What are you waiting for?" and she charged her guard, hammer swinging.

At that moment, Kafka realized what that question meant. She was supposed to run. And that was what she did. She knew from the way the girl managed to beat the guards outside that the other two would probably pose no challenge to her. And she kept running, ignoring the sounds of gunshots followed by a loud crack of something crushing the bone.

She met more guards on her way out. Most probably didn't recognize her as they let her pass without questions, while others probably thought she was just scared and tried to get out of the building, like what a normal person would do. Some marine officers were also there, guns drawn.

Once she was outside, two more guards immediately flanked her side. They told her that they had to go. Kafka walked silently with one guard on each side. She couldn't see the world noble nor his slaves anywhere. She wondered if they would shoot her if she ran away.

But hadn't she decided? What use would her life be if she had no freedom to live it as she wished? Could that truly be called living? No, it couldn't. And she'd rather die trying than live her whole life caged for his entertainment. 'The world awaits.'

She tripped and fell down to her knees. She could hear the movements as her guard moved behind her to help her up. And when he was close enough she elbowed him, straight on the ribcage, as hard as she can. He yelped in surprise and she stood up, shoving him straight to his friend who was pulling out his gun. They fell in a heap.

With both guards down for a moment, she made a run for it. During that time, she thought about this city, about its people, while navigating her way through familiar streets, turning each corners. She felt it for the first time. This city was so narrow. Of course, she had thought about going away from Jahad, about living her life somewhere else. But that was different. Right now, this city suffocated her, taking pieces of her. Slowly. Steadily. Chipping away something inside of her until nothing was left. Destroying who she once was.

Turning down a corner, she stopped and leaned both hands on her knees, gasping for air. Her lungs were begging her to rest, to replenish their air supply. At last, a short repose.

She couldn't help but think about her conversation with Samira before and what the white girl told her. A long time ago, she would also hope for someone to come; a prince charming, sweeping her off her feet to another place, somewhere no one knows her. Because wasn't that what most girls wanted, for a prince to come and whisk her away? But that was just wishful thinking, wasn't it? Those kinds of stuff only happened in fairy tales. In reality, no one would come for you. She realized that even more so now. Her father wouldn't come. Her friends wouldn't come. She had to safe herself.

The town was engulfed with silence in the dead of the night. And if they had heard the commotion, they chose to stay in the safety of their home. Nobody would bother her.

"There she is!" a voice called out from behind her and a hand gripped her wrist before she was jerked forward.

She cursed under her breath, instinctively yanking her arm back. The grip on her arm tightened.

"Stop yanking and run!" The girl's familiar voice snapped at her and she stopped her action.

"It's you!" Kafka exclaimed, eyes widening.

"Yes, it's me! Don't stop; run!"

They both ran as fast as they can, turning down an alleyway and hid, waiting for the footsteps to fade.

Kafka looked at her. Now that they were standing next to each other, she could see that the girl wasn't that much taller than her, but she was built leaner with more muscles as well. Kafka managed to say a small thank you in the midst of her gasping.

The girl, on the other hand, appeared completely find despite their previous grueling action. Unlike Kafka, she was only breathing heavily. The girl glared at her. "Why didn't you use your knife?"

"I…" Kafka blinked, "…forget about it."

The girl clicked her tongue. "First, you don't take the knives I provided for you during mealtimes. Now, you don't bother using a weapon at your arsenal. Seriously?"

"How should I know that I'm supposed to take it?"

"Well, when a knife was left there for you even when you didn't need it, then you should get the idea. I thought you are supposed to be smart."

"Are you calling me stupid?" Kafka felt her irritation spiked up.

"Oh, I'm not." The hammer was swung over her shoulder. "You are stupid."

The native scoffed and raised an eyebrow. "Well, if you had used your brain, you would have realized that your clue isn't clear enough."

The girl held her war hammer in front of her, her teeth were bared, but there was a pink hue on her cheeks. "Say that again and I'll crush your skull, you stupid bitch!"

"Wow, did I touch a nerve?"

They looked at each other. The air was tense. Kafka knew that provoking her current companion probably wasn't a good idea. She understood that the girl really could crush her skull if she wanted to. And while Kafka had some basic self-defense training drilled on her, this girl was way out of her league.

Kafka crossed her arms and broke the silence. "Who are you anyway? I don't even know your name and you already insulted me."

The girl remained quiet before she finally huffed and looked away. "Bronja."

Kafka looked at her in astonishment. She really wasn't expecting her – Bronja – to answer. From what she had gathered during their little time together, Bronja was definitely not the social type. "Okay." She said. "So, what now?"

"There they are!"

"What?" Bronja stated plainly, staring at the guards that were moving their way, "They are here already?" She shouldered her hammer and moved to intercept them. "I'll take care of them for you. So you better find a ship to stow away into."

"But…" Kafka hesitated.

"Just go. You're in my way."

"…Alright." Kafka nodded.

She took a couple of steps back, turned around, and ran away. She wasn't sure how long she had run. But she did realize how out of shape she was. It was pretty clear by the sound of footsteps that caught up with her.

"There she is!"

She was running so fast that she couldn't stop when a man stepped out from the bar on the side. She barely registered his form as she collided with him. An arm wrapped itself around her waist to steady her.

"Whoa, easy there, Girl."

"I'm sorry!" she half-shouted, regaining her balance and preparing herself to flee again, because once more, she heard one of her pursuers shouted "Over there!" followed by sounds of footsteps. She couldn't be caught here.

"Hold it!" a guard yelled. "Unhand her, Peasant! Do you not know that she is the esteemed Saint Maximilian's fiancée?"

"Huh?" the stranger said. "Who is that?"

"Wait a second," she heard one of the marine officers said. "I know that man."

"Isn't he one of the Whitebeard Pirates?" another one said.

'He is a pirate?' Kafka wondered, gazing at the man, eyes wide. Now that she got a good look at him, she recognized him in one of the wanted posters hung around the Jahad's marine base. She wondered why she kept meeting dangerous people, one after another, lately. 'But,' she looked to her chasers; they appeared to hesitate, 'I could use him to escape.'

She steeled herself and said to the man. "Take me to your ship!"

The man looked at her, taken aback. "Sorry, Girly, but we don't take stowaway." He turned around, waving his hand dismissively.

"Name your price!" Kafka blurted out. "Here, everything can be bought for the right price. So name yours!" This was a bad decision. One she wouldn't make so easily under normal circumstances. But right now, she was desperate enough to make a wager with a pirate. He was her only hope to escape the city safely. Out into the blue sea, to get back her freedom.

In the back, the marine officers and the guard were having their own debate.

"He is only one person! If we shoot him simultaneously, he won't be able to do a thing!"

"Don't shoot, idiot! That woman is a celestial dragon soon-to-be bride. If she's hurt, they'll cut off our heads."

But right now, Kafka barely paid any attention to them. Let them argue if it would buy her more time.

The man looked at her with an unreadable expression on his face. He sighed; Kafka could see the flash of pity in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Kafka beat him to it.

"I know this city like the back of my hand. I'll get you out to your ship."

This time, the man smiled, albeit crookedly. "My ship is not in the harbor."

Kafka knew he was swayed. "Not a problem. Just tell me where it is." She nodded, feeling a bit more confident now, and offered her hand for him to shake. "Deal?"

The man looked her over with an appraising look, glancing at her offered hand. She stood her ground although she was getting a bit antsy. But then, he chuckled and shook her hand. "Deal. I'm Thatch."

"Kafka." Kafka sighed, relieved.

In the background, the guard shouted. "It doesn't matter! Just get her back!"

"Well, Kafka," Thatch said, still with a smile, but his grip on her hand tightened a little bit, "can you still run?"

"Uh, not really?"

"Okay then. Hang on tight!"

And the next thing she knew, Thatch was scooping her up and carrying her bridal style. She yelped, hands immediately circled around his neck when he started running. Inside, she swore she would hit him later for doing that without warning. Behind them, her pursuers were yelling after them. But they moved either too slowly or it was Thatch who was too fast, they were left behind.

"Now, which way do we go?"

* * *

 **Bonus: What happened to Bronja?**

After her clean up, Bronja immediately sought after the girl she had helped escapes that night. To be honest, she didn't have any particular care for Kafka's wellbeing. It just happened that her mentor didn't want anything to happen to her child. If she had her way, she would prefer Kafka to never exist. At least, that way, all the attention her mentor had would be given to her, just as it should be. But no matter, duty is duty. And she intended to fulfil her duty brilliantly.

She wasn't exactly built for stealth. Nevertheless, the best way to search for someone was from an upper point of view, which included moving from roof to roof.

When she found Kafka cornered by the guards and the marine, she settled herself on top of the roof, a bit unsure about what to do, seeing as . But everything turned up fine after all. If everything went well, the two – Kafka and the pirate – would be able to get out of the island after midnight. She watched as the two made their escape.

In any case, she was sure that at least the pirate sensed her presence. She wasn't exactly trying to hide after all.

She remained there for quite some time, pulling out the sword strapped on her back from its scabbard. The blade glinted with light of the moon and her fingertips glided over it, absorbed in her own thoughts. Her mission was to deliver her mentor's message to Kafka, help her escape, and give her the sword. She had successfully accomplished the first two. But parting with the sword was hard. The sword of her mentor was something that she had wanted since a long time ago. She deserved it. Kafka didn't.

Her den den mushi rang. She sighed when she picked it up. She was going to get yelled again, wasn't she? Well, whatever.

* * *

 **One Piece (c) Eiichiro Oda**

 **OCs (c) Me**

 **~Reviews are greatly appreciated~**


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